


Hard Bark on the Family Tree

by deciding



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Flower Crowns, Gen, Multi, Post-2x21, bughead - Freeform, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 09:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14668275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deciding/pseuds/deciding
Summary: Before she sat down, Betty picked up Jughead’s hat and put it near his feet on top of the thin hospital blanket that covered his lower body. “Everything in its right place,” she sighed.--Jughead’s escape is incomplete.





	Hard Bark on the Family Tree

**Author's Note:**

> This is way too long and not very satisfying. I’d apologize but I wouldn’t mean it.

He’d nearly escaped like a runaway train. When he was younger, in his tree house, he escaped in make-believe to far off foreign lands. As his thinking mind developed, he got lost in the classic cars on movie screens. He could spend hours in a booth at Pop’s, fingers flying over the keyboard of his laptop, lost to the world in his own imagination. But this time? Now? 

Jughead had chosen a form of escapism that was a means to an end—permanent. It was reckless, like he’d once joked about. But the escape was incomplete. A misfire. He wasn’t gone. He was in the state of the in between, near death and barely hanging on. 

His failure to escape caused more chaos than what was already the norm. Archie and Veronica rushed him in the Lodge town car to the hospital, FP holding him all the while. Toni and Cheryl went back to the Whyte Wyrm to hatch a new plan to solve Penny Peabody and Malachi—vengeance was Cheryl Blossom’s favorite shade of red and she had the resources for it. 

Of all the people who could console Betty, she was left at the edge of the woods with Sweet Pea. The last time they’d spoken to each other was in argument and she couldn’t remember what about, because he’d later showed up with his switchblade to help save the day at her house. He’d just lost his best friend a few hours earlier and he was shit for company. But there was some comfort in his stoic silence, in not trying to make it better. He didn’t try and stop Betty from falling to her knees or crying when she moved to sit on the ground and wept. He was mourning his own loss. 

“He was out cold _but breathing_ ,” Sweet Pea offered to Betty as she hiccuped through some dry heaving. 

Betty wouldn’t have expected fragile, encouraging words that really had no backbone from Sweet Pea anyway, so she supposed his blunt statement was as close as he would get. 

“He was,” she agreed. “Yes. You’re right, he was.” 

Betty’s feelings about Jughead’s escape plot were complex—it wasn’t just one emotion. She was hurt and confused and worried, and anger had just risen to the surface. His intent was made clear by his actions: he was willing to sacrifice himself, by death, to save the south side. With the onset of anger, Betty thought it was every bit selfish as it was martyrdom. Because it meant he’d been willing to leave her. It’d been like he’d been saying goodbye for good, yet Jughead hadn’t given a proper goodbye. He still had questions to answer for. 

“Can you take me to the hospital now?” Betty tightened her ponytail. 

Sweet Pea stood and brushed the grass off his already dirty jeans. He held out his hand to Betty. “That’s what I’m here for.” 

Betty took Sweet Pea’s hand and accepted the force of his momentum to pull her up from the ground. She noted the implication in his words that staying with her and getting her to Riverdale General safely was his official gang assignment for the evening. He resented it and probably her. No one had tried to coddle him when he learned his best friend died hours earlier. 

“Sweet Pea.” Betty squeezed his hand and looked him in the eye, mirrors of the pain and distress in her own eyes. Her voice cracked on her empathy. “I’m so sorry about Fangs.” 

Sweet Pea’s face twisted into a scowl and snarl before his expression softened and his eyes went glassy. He let go of Betty’s hand and took a step back, the tuft of curled hair against his forehead bouncing as he went. 

“Jones will listen to you. Let’s go.”

 

\-----

 

In the hospital waiting room for the intensive care unit, from anger and rage grew fear. It was the waiting that did Betty in. On the ride over, she’d let her anger overcome her worry, convinced herself it was okay for her to be mad at Jughead. But Jughead had to be heavily sedated for emergency surgery because of the internal bleeding and injuries sustained. It brought Betty back to the last words he’d uttered to her on the phone and his lifeless form as FP carried him out from among the maple trees, still barren and stark from the winter. 

It was her downfall, remembering the blood caked on Jughead’s face and the torn flesh of his arm. Her ponytail fell apart in the waiting room and so did she. She felt guilty: for letting herself think it was okay to be mad at Jughead, for the actual act of being mad at Jughead, and for allowing herself to be wrapped up in her own crap that it took his sentimental phone call to realize he felt like he was out of options for his cause. It wasn’t her choice to have her own horrible night. There was no way she could have gotten home to face her dad and gotten to FP’s trailer at the same time, but knowing that didn’t make Betty feel any better. She’d been so out of touch with Jughead that she didn’t even know what had happened leading up to the phone call. If Jughead didn’t make it, if he wouldn’t be okay, then nothing was okay. Not anger nor sadness nor guilt would change the finality of death. 

Archie and Veronica took turns holding Betty’s hand as time pointed forward toward the morning. When FP, who’d been sitting to Betty’s left, stepped into the hallway to make a phone call to Ohio, both her friends encircled her. 

The waiting room was quiet, all conversations in hushed tones. FP’s voice was loud and argumentative, so every soul knew he was in a heated discussion with Gladys Jones. There was talk of a bus schedule and getting on a bus and a lot of words about money. It always came down to money for them. Toni whispered something in Cheryl’s ear and they disappeared down the hall in the direction of FP’s quarrel. 

“Can I get you guys something from the vending machine or the cafeteria? Or phone in for delivery from Pop’s?” Veronica asked Betty and Archie. 

Betty shook her head slowly, distracted and only partly engaged in the conversation. 

Following Betty’s reaction, Archie extended his gratitude to his girlfriend. “Thanks, Ronnie. I’m okay.” 

Veronica put a supportive arm around Betty. It was only a few months before when Veronica had sought Betty’s advice on how to be there for Archie when Fred had been shot. In their town of tragedy, friends supporting friends had become a regular occurrence that Veronica had no choice but to become well versed in. After the Black Hood and Nick St. Clair and her father—after being attacked in her own home by a man who called himself _Small Fries_ because of her father—Veronica was equipped with the strength to share the weight of her friend’s burdens. 

Her parents would deal with the fallout of the dead body in Hiram’s study probably as they often did, in a sick and twisted way that would be hard for her to stomach. She couldn’t bear to stick around, not to stand by her mother who’d been the one to pull the trigger but seemed content to be a mere mouthpiece for Hiram. It felt right for Veronica to be where she was, at the hospital waiting to hear the news about Jughead, the 16-year-old boy who was the biggest thorn in Hiram Lodge’s side. But not everything was about her father. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t just his world. Veronica was connected to Jughead through Betty and through Archie. Just because Veronica and Jughead often found themselves on opposite sides of any spectrum in Riverdale, it didn’t mean Jughead’s significance was lost on Veronica. He was a part of her best friend and boyfriend, and they were a part of her, so if they lost him, she lost a part of herself, too. 

Veronica knew a memory or a possible worst case scenario was activated in Betty’s mind because she felt new tears from her best friend’s eyes seep into her cashmere blouse. She ignored the water damage and concentrated on the damage Betty was dealing with. She rubbed her hand up and down Betty’s arm until FP thudded back into the waiting room. Cheryl and Toni were a few strides back and they shuffled into the opposite corner of the room. 

Archie barely had any time to scramble out of his borrowed seat before FP slumped down into it. FP bit down into one of his fists and let out a pained, strained scream of frustration. Betty sat up straight from Veronica’s shoulder as FP ran his palm over his face. 

Betty wiped at her salty eyes with the back of her hand and reached over to touch his forearm. “Mr. Jones…” 

“They’re coming,” he said before providing the context, “Jughead’s mom and Jellybean. They’ll be here by next sundown, by bus.” 

“Oh,” Betty answered with a nod. 

“She didn’t have the money,” FP muttered more to himself than to Betty. “She just flat out said there was no money, and there were no resources to get money. I had to get her the money so she’d come.” 

Presumably, he was talking about his estranged wife and Betty’s throbbing heart ached again. She and Jughead had spoken about their complicated relationships with their mothers sparingly. She didn’t know the total extent of the fracture of Jughead’s relationship with Gladys, but based on FP’s description, it sounded like Jughead’s mother hadn’t been adamant about getting creative in order to get to her son as soon as possible. Alice was controlling and manipulative of Betty, which Betty could acknowledge wasn’t healthy, but she had no doubt her mother would walk through fire for her if need be. 

“It was _Cheryl_ ,” FP spoke again. “This is an all time low, even for a guy who’s been to jail and had a drinking problem for more than half his life. I’m completely cash strapped, too. I had to take money from Cheryl Blossom to get Jughead’s mom and Jellybean back here. Toni asked her. Toni…she…” 

FP trailed off and never finished his sentence, but what he meant was clear. Cheryl had never liked Jughead and she despised FP, had made a point of breaking a full milkshake glass at Pop’s once just to make him clean it up after he’d been paroled, for his involvement in the dumping of her brother’s body. But Toni was loyal to both Jughead and FP because she was a Serpent through and through. When she heard FP on the phone, she took a proactive measure and asked Cheryl to help. Cheryl’s loyalty was to Toni as of late. She’d even gone with Jughead to save Toni from Penny. Cheryl was always about extremes. So when Toni asked for help, Cheryl’s only question was how much. 

Equal parts grateful and embarrassed, FP scrunched his face up and rubbed his temples. He would have come up with a solution. He’d have asked Fred or Pop Tate or even Alice, if it came down to it. But Toni and Cheryl had sought him out, served the solution up to him on a silver platter. He didn’t feel right about taking anything from Cheryl but he didn’t feel right about refusing help from a Serpent, one who was always on Jughead’s side, either. Nothing felt right. 

Betty turned in her seat. Cheryl and Toni had their heads bowed together and neither glanced up to meet her gaze. Archie and Betty exchanged looks with Veronica, who then cleared her throat. 

“Uh, Mr. Jones?” Veronica inflected FP’s name into a question as she rose from her seat to stand in front of him. “If you want, I can—“ 

“FP Jones?” 

FP shot out of his chair to meet a new presence in the room. He wasn’t the only one. Betty was just behind him, and Archie beside her. From beside the water cooler, Sweet Pea was up on his feet. The ruckus prompted Toni and Cheryl to rise as well. 

It was the surgeon, Dr. Williams, who’d stepped into the room. 

“Doc,” FP said desperately, “give it to me straight. How’s my boy?” 

“He’s in the recovery area now. We stopped the internal bleeding but he’s got a way to go. He’s fragile right now so setting the broken ribs will have to wait. He’s lucky – minimal head trauma. No bleeding in the brain, but we’ll monitor it closely.” The doctor’s words were like mumbo jumbo looped together for FP. “My main concern right now is making sure he stays stable and that we prevent sepsis.” 

“He…can he wake up?” FP wondered tentatively. “Will he wake up?” 

“At this time it’s best if he remains heavily sedated,” Dr. Williams advised. “But if he progresses in the next few days, he’ll be weaned off the sedative and he’ll wake up on his own.” 

In relief, FP leaned over himself like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. “Oh, God. Thank God. Okay. Okay.” 

“Your son is fortunate you found him when you did,” Dr. Williams answered sternly, almost scoldingly to FP. 

“Hmm,” FP mused sadly, thinking there was nothing fortunate about the resilience Jughead had to have in him his whole life to survive, “that kid is the hard bark on the family tree.” 

Behind FP, Betty and Archie embraced, and Veronica exhaled, a hand on each of their shoulders. 

“Can I see him now?” FP asked. 

“You may,” the good doctor confirmed. 

Betty gasped, drawing both of their attention. A verbal confirmation that Jughead was able to see visitors put her on edge because she wanted to be in his presence so badly. The complex plethora of emotions burned inside her. 

Sounds tumbled from her mouth but she couldn’t get a sentence out. “I…I…I…” 

The doctor frowned. 

“The nurse can take one person to see him.” Dr. Williams stressed, “ _Family only_.” 

FP turned halfway back and motioned for Betty to move up beside him. When she did, without missing a beat, FP replied, “She is family.” 

Betty’s eyes widened. She inched closer to him and whispered under her breath, “You…are you sure?” 

“I’m sure that with you watching over him nothing worse than what’s already happened is going to happen.” FP nodded. 

“Mr. Jones,” Betty said respectfully, “if I go in there and I see him…I don’t know if I’ll be able to leave him.” 

“Yeah, I get that. I’d expect nothing less, Betty.” FP was nearly in tears, but he thought about what Jughead would want, given the choice. “You go ahead. I think you’re the one he needs right now.” 

“You have no idea what this means to me,” Betty gave him a watery smile. “Thank you.” 

“She’ll go,” FP told Dr. Williams. 

“I’ll go,” Betty affirmed. 

“Fine.” The doctor didn’t seem satisfied but he conceded. “Wait here, the nurse will escort you.” 

Toni approached as the doctor walked away. 

“Betty…” 

“Toni.” 

“Here, take this.” Toni reached into the inside pocket of her leather jacket and held out a familiar piece of knitted gray wool. 

“Where did you get this?” Betty asked with shock as she thumbed her finger over the pins in Jughead’s crown beanie. 

“He left it at the trailer on purpose, I think,” Toni said of Jughead. “But he’ll want it to be close by or know that you have it when he wakes up.” 

With Jughead’s security blanket clutched tightly in her palms, right up against her crescent-mooned scars, Betty thanked Toni before the nurse led her away. 

Betty’s thoughts consumed her once more as she moved down the hallway. She’d waited all night and into the morning to see Jughead, but with her emotions imitating an endless roller coaster of anger and sadness, she knew her reaction when she saw him would be purely instinctual and of the moment. 

“Betty. Betty?” The nurse tried to get her attention. “It is Betty, isn’t it?” 

“What?” Betty snapped back into the reality train. “Yes. It’s Betty. Sorry, what were you saying?” 

“I said it can be overwhelming to see your loved one in the condition that Forsythe is in right now. There are a lot of tubes and machines going,” the nurse repeated the speil she’d gone off on when Betty hadn’t been paying attention. “I wanted to forewarn you. Try not to freak out.” 

Telling someone to try not to freak out was a catalyst to set someone on the path of freaking out. Betty’s doe eyes went wider than usual. “Oh, God. How bad is it? Does he look worse than when he came in?” 

“Shh,” the nurse soothed. “I just want you to be prepared. Let’s just say your James Dean isn’t ready for a close-up right now.” 

Betty found no soothing comfort in the steady hand the nurse put on her shoulder. She wanted to run to Jughead’s bed now. 

“He’s behind here,” the nurse pointed to the curtain at the end of a row of beds. “Ready?” 

Betty nodded her head profusely. “Please.” 

When the nurse pulled the curtain back, it was like the simultaneous ripping off of a bandage and a swift punch to the gut for Betty. She had to grab onto the edge of the gurney’s guardrail to keep from falling. Jughead’s beanie slipped from her grasp. 

He looked so small, like that same boy who’d stared at the clouds through the window of his tree house when he still had a tree house. There was a tube into his chest to keep one of his lungs from collapsing on itself again and a breathing tube down his throat. There was an IV into his arm and attachments all over him, machines beeping in pattern but out of sync, to monitor his stability. 

And there was still so much blood. The hospital staff had done what they could while being minimally invasive, but there was dried blood on his arms, made darker by forming bruises, and some caked on his face and in his hair. There was a speck of blood that had seeped through the dressing around his arm where Penny had cut out his tattoo. 

A whisper fell from Betty’s lips, “Oh, Jug.” 

“Here,” the nurse motioned at the chair she’d brought up behind Betty, “have a seat. You can talk to him. He’s not going anywhere.” 

Neither was Betty. 

“He…” Betty trailed off, choking on the lump that arose in her throat as she shed new tears. “Can he hear me?” 

“I don’t know,” the nurse answered honestly. “But I’d like to think he can. Some people say patients in this condition heal faster if they can sense their loved ones are nearby.” 

Before she sat down, Betty picked up Jughead’s hat and put it near his feet on top of the thin hospital blanket that covered his lower body. “Everything in its right place,” she sighed. 

She’d have to get the doctor’s approval before he could wear his beanie again. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” the nurse said before pulling the curtain closed so Betty and Jughead were as alone as they could be behind a privacy curtain. 

Betty let her emotions filter through. She let the tears fall freely down her cheeks and pulled the tie from her hair, allowing her already disheveled ponytail to dismantle completely. 

It was as she thought—her feelings were complex. It was the heartache and sorrow all over again, and remorse for the raw anger she’d felt, that she still felt a little bit of. The days she’d spend at Jughead’s side would be difficult, but full of hope because he was still breathing. 

“I forgive you for trying to escape this place because you thought it was the only way to save the Serpents. But I’m so mad at you for almost leaving me. Juggie, I need you to be okay,” Betty begged desperately. “Our story’s not over. It’s just beginning.”

 

\-----

 

Literally and figuratively, healing took time. Jughead’s condition improved over the next two days. The chest tube came out as he got stitches for the deep lacerations that would scar. His body was littered in bruises, black and blue, like a child’s fable. His brain didn’t bleed and his repaired ribcage protected his reflated lung so the breathing tube came out, too. 

The sedatives kept him from consciousness but once in a while the indentations that sometimes showed above his eyebrows appeared and Betty worried he could feel the pain of healing in his sleep. She never left Jughead’s side, except to use the restroom and change into the clothes Veronica brought for her. FP sat in the chair on the other side of the bed once Jughead was allowed more than one visitor. 

FP was bogged down and burdened by the mental weight of his son in a hospital bed. He never sat still long enough to get comfortable. He kept running his hands through his greasy hair and he’d chewed his nails down to the quick. He hated the waiting game. What he wanted the most—for Jughead to wake up and look him in the eye and talk to him again—was what he feared the most. An impending conversation would be heavy and he’d hang his head in shame for failing to keep his son from going down the path he’d charged down, fists swinging. Some things just fell apart, including FP’s best laid plans. 

The Jones family was together for the first time in a year, but FP couldn’t be sure Gladys and Jellybean wouldn’t hightail out of town before Jughead woke up. He didn’t know if his wife was ready for a new circus that would consist of the aftermath of medical bills they couldn’t afford and visits from a parole officer without warning, and probably his re-aquaintance with the bottle to cope with all of those, too. 

FP only stepped away to take calls from the Serpents or meet them in the cafeteria. He’d tried to maintain a cool head for months, but when his son’s life was on the line, after all the failures and blame he’d already passed on to Jughead, the cost was too high. If Serpentine justice wasn’t served to the allies of Penny Peabody, then the Serpents would be run out of town. 

Under pressure from the south side community and Riverdale at large who wanted the Ghoulies back behind bars, Sheriff Minetta thought it best to put in a request for Jughead to get a private room at Riverdale General under the guise of concern for his safety. It appeased the Serpents and put distance between him and the Ghoulies. Though he was under Hiram Lodge’s thumb as much as the Ghoulies were, his position was interim, and public opinion would determine if he got to keep his job. 

The new room was bigger than the space for a curtained off hospital bed, and as a bonus it had a window. When they moved, Betty took on the task of arranging the tokens of good wishes for Jughead on the counter space under the windowsill. In recognition of the wool crown he always wore, nearly all the flower arrangements were flower crowns—Ethel’s idea. 

Betty was reading the tag on the crown from Sweet Pea (disappointingly not made of sweet peas) when a knock came at the door. 

“Cousin Betty!” Cheryl poked her head into the room. “The hobo prince has some special visitors.” 

 _Typical Cheryl_ , Betty thought. It was a solemn time and she was still using backhanded slurs to describe someone who’d had an all too recent brush with death. 

“Cheryl, not now,” Betty said impatiently. “I don’t— _Dagwood?_ ” 

Clinging to Cheryl’s red crop top and balanced on her hip was Polly’s son, Betty was sure of it. Betty had only spent a short time with Polly and her twins between her move from the farm to San Francisco, but she wouldn’t have forgotten her nephew’s face. 

“That’s right,” Cheryl confirmed. 

“What…how…” 

“Hey, Betty.” 

“Polly?” 

Betty’s sister then stood in the doorway of the room, one hand supporting daughter Juniper and the other on a stroller. Without hesitation, Betty got up from her seat and rushed over to greet her sister. They embraced tightly and the smell of Polly’s perfume brought Betty back to better times in Riverdale. Even after Jason died and Polly had his babies, her sister would always remind Betty of their long gone innocent days as children. 

“What are you doing here?” Betty got out more eloquently than her first attempt. “ _How_ are you here?” 

“It’s all Aunt Cheryl’s doing,” Polly gestured at the redhead who was bouncing Dagwood up and down in place. “She called me and got me and the babies on the first flight out here that she could.” 

“My emancipation came through,” Cheryl revealed. “For my first act with financial consequence as a young and wealthy emancipated minor, I knew I had to get Polly and my niece and nephew back where they belong.” 

There was an argument to be made that Polly should’ve kept her children as far away from Riverdale as possible, especially with Archie declaring the presence of a second imposter Black Hood, and the likes of Hiram Lodge hiring a gang of miscreants for the beatdown of a teenager who was sort of friends with his daughter. 

None of them—not Betty or Polly or Cheryl—knew every angle of attack on the town though. And Cheryl Blossom was not one to pack up and leave. 

“I think it’s time, Betty,” Polly said confidently. “Now that Dad’s taken up residence in the sheriff’s station and is no doubt going to be shipped off to Shankshaw, I feel good about being home. It will be good for the babies to be around you and Mom. I mean if…if that’s okay with you.” 

“Pol, of course,” Betty assured her sister. “Have you been home yet? Does Mom know?” 

“She’s holding the fort down at home. There are a lot of people ringing the doorbell and camped on the front lawn…like the house is a spectacle – the place where the Black Hood lived.” Polly sighed and pointed at the diaper bag strung over the stroller. “She sent clothes for you, and a big chunk of casserole, to save you from the cafeteria food. She wanted me to let you know that she wants to be here for you, and for Jughead, but things are crazy over there right now.” 

A lot had happened that Betty put aside when she saw Jughead’s lifeless form in FP’s arms. Betty’s father had revealed himself as the Black Hood and gave his psychotic explanation for doing what he did, blaming Betty for inspiring him. He’d threatened to kill himself and Alice and Betty. He would’ve done it, too, if Alice and Betty hadn’t worked together to outsmart him and knock him out. It was a brutal night that Betty would have to remember and deal with. But before she did, she needed to see Jughead open his eyes. 

“Do you know if Toni is here?” Cheryl interjected. 

“Sure,” Betty shrugged. “She might be down in the cafeteria, actually. I think she was the one who called FP before he walked out of here. Serpent business. Why?” 

“We have some important matters to discuss.” Cheryl said cryptically and deposited Dagwood into Polly’s arm without warning so Polly was juggling both of her babies, each with a flower crown of cherry blossoms on their heads. “So if you’ll both excuse me.” 

Cheryl spun on her heel and started out the door. 

“Wait,” Betty called after her. She glanced at Jughead before chasing after her. “Cheryl, wait.” 

Betty caught Cheryl at the end of the hallway and blocked her way. 

“You stand in my way, you threaten me. You know I don’t like to be threatened, cousin,” Cheryl said icily as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Cheryl, what’s going on?” Betty demanded. “First, you got Jughead’s mom here from Toledo and now Polly and the twins? Why are you being so…” 

“Nice?” Cheryl finished for her. 

Betty blew out a breath. “Well, yeah.” 

“Do you remember what I said at Daddy’s will reading?” Cheryl asked. “Before Uncle Claudius showed up?” 

“ _No more blood_.” 

“Yes,” Cheryl nodded. “It was him and Mommy who corrupted my thoughts after that, but I meant what I said. Now that I’m emancipated, I can live as I want, the way I want. It means I get to choose my family, too. That’s my Nana Rose and Jason’s kids moving forward.” 

“Okay,” Betty conceded. So bringing Polly back from San Francisco was self-serving for Cheryl. That still didn’t explain what she’d done for the Joneses. “But what about Jughead though?” 

“What about that him?” 

“Cheryl, I know you gave FP the money so Jughead’s mom and sister could come here,” Betty answered. “You don’t even like Jughead and I know FP is on your blacklist because of what happened with Jason.” 

“It’s my way of moving forward, Cousin Betty,” Cheryl said honestly. “Allow me to repeat myself: no more blood. Doing something good for someone who wronged me is…it’s cathartic. Toni’s really helping me become the person I want to be. Besides, I was at the Whyte Wyrm before we found Jughead, and FP—well, clearly he doesn’t do a very good job as their leader for lack of imagination—but from what I saw, he is trying.” 

And he was. Everyone could see how FP tried to make things better even as they got worse, even when tensions were high between him and Jughead and they were on the verge of hating each other (that was when they loved each other the most). 

“I’m grateful for what you’ve done,” Betty thanked Cheryl and her eyes got glassy. “Jughead would be, too, if he were awake.” 

“Please. That hobo is like a pestilent disease. No doubt he’ll wake up.” Before Cheryl’s red heels clicked and carried her away, she flashed one of her supercilious smiles. “And he can thank me then.” 

Back in Jughead’s room, Polly had put Juniper down in the stroller to sleep. She and Dagwood were up near Jughead’s face, not touching him, but close. Polly tried to get her son to talk. 

“ _Jughead_ ,” she recited to Dagwood. “Can you say ‘Jughead’?” 

Betty noted her sister sounded just like Alice did when she said Jughead’s name. 

“What are you doing?” Betty joined them at Jughead’s bedside. 

“When I was living on the farm, I learned that the subconscious mind is soothed by the pitch of the sounds babies make.” Polly grinned and her eyes were as big as saucers. “So I’m trying to get Daggie to laugh.” 

Betty had some serious doubts about the science and philosophies Polly had learned on the farm. Her sister was trying to help in the only way she knew how, though, so Betty let it go. “You’ve met Jug before, Polly. I don’t really think he’s much of a baby person.” 

“What are you talking about, Betty, of course he is,” Polly disagreed. “He’s got a little sister. Where is Jellybean anyway?” 

“The trailer,” Betty said simply. “Mrs. Jones wanted her to get some rest.” 

Jellybean had started crying as soon as she saw her brother. She’d kicked and screamed and punched the wall when she was told she couldn’t touch him, not yet. She’d spent the whole bus ride from Toledo worried, too antsy to flip through the pages of Jughead’s copy of _The Outsiders_ she’d taken from his bookshelf, even though it was beyond her reading comprehension level, on the night she and her mother went away to Toledo. She’d made a promise to Jughead that she was only borrowing it—her own way of assuring him they’d be back. They’d been gone for a year and she never could have guessed Jughead’s near death would be the thing that brought them back. 

Like Betty and FP, she didn’t want to leave Jughead’s side. It was only when she was seated at his side that Jellybean settled down and opened up the book to read. But Jellybean was only ten and she fell asleep curled up under FP’s leather jacket. FP carried her to Fred Andrews’ truck so she could get some shut-eye in her former home before she had a chance to protest. 

Gladys Jones was harder to read. Betty had expected a stone-faced woman who gave off the air of being inconvenienced by being back in Riverdale, inconvenienced by her son. But that wasn’t her. It seemed like she could hardly stand to look at Jughead, unconscious and sedated, because she was racked with guilt. The biggest secret she’d carried around with her every day for the last year was that her unwillingness to return to Riverdale revolved around her guilty conscience over leaving Jughead there in the first place. It was why she’d turned him away when he called about getting on a bus to Toledo back in October, too scared to face him and answer for her abandonment. Backed into a corner by the news of Jughead’s severe condition and FP’s ability to get the heavens to rain just enough money to cover bus fare, she had to put on her bravest Mom face and see her boy. 

Every time she was at his bedside, the tears flowed from the oceans of her eyes that matched Jughead’s. She didn’t say much, but she told Betty she was all Jughead could talk about the last time they’d spoken. Gladys was even bold enough to ask the doctor when they could wash Jughead’s hair so he could wear his beanie, the one she’d knitted her for him that he wore every day. 

There were amends for Gladys to make, most of all with Jughead. The most important part was that she’d shown up to make them. 

Betty made sure the chair she’d sat in before Jughead got moved to his own room remained in the same spot and unoccupied, waiting for her when she would look in on her son again. 

“You know, Betty,” Polly put a hand on her sister’s back, even though she could already guess what the response would be, “you should get some rest, too.” 

“I’m not leaving him.” Betty moved her hand onto the bed. She put the edges of her fingertips right up against Jughead’s. It was as close as she could get to him until she was allowed to really touch him and hold his hand. “Not until he wakes up.”

 

\-----

 

After watching Betty sleep upright or curled into a chair for four days, one of the nurses wheeled another bed into the room. Then she could lay beside Jughead and watch over him more comfortably. He inched toward a James Dean ready for his close-up with each day. He was on a lot of painkillers, but since his vitals had remained steady, he’d been given his last sedative several hours ago. The doctor said Jughead would wake up when he was ready. 

There was no telling what he’d be like when he woke. He could be high on the painkillers. He could have memory loss, and how much they didn’t know. Irrationally, Betty feared Jughead wouldn’t remember her when he woke up. Or worse, what if he remembered her but didn’t remember _them_? What if he was stuck in a mental time warp when he woke up and asked where Archie was, asked if his best friend had gone on their planned road trip without him? 

It would be like the universe playing the cruelest of jokes on Betty. It would be like Jughead had succeeded, escaped Riverdale, and without her. 

Thinking like that sent Betty into a tailspin. She paced around the room for an hour and exhausted herself before she slumped down into her chair, face down and tears soaking the steamed sheet of the hospital bed as she wrung Jughead’s beanie in one of her hands. 

Betty knew Jughead would be out of sorts when he came to, and she hoped pleasantly surprised by the outpouring of support for him. Jughead had thought of himself as the kid from the wrong side of the tracks, the quiet weirdo freak. He’d been bullied, been to juvie hall, been a loner with only two real friends. But that wasn’t him anymore, not after he’d told Betty he loved her, not after becoming a Serpent—especially not after his willingness to sacrifice himself for the gang. 

He would wake up to teenagers clad in leather jackets, the mark left on the wall where his sister had punched it, his mother’s concern and guilt, his father’s relentless restlessness, a windowsill full of flower crowns, and a girl who loved him fiercely. 

What Betty hadn’t expected was for her to be the one who woke up to Jughead. 

She was kneeled over the side of the bed. She must have fallen asleep that way after tiring herself with all the _what if_ ’s. She woke because, after all the waiting and anticipating, she felt the weight of Jughead’s hand on her elbow. 

Unlike the time they’d fallen asleep together on the couch in the trailer after trying to decipher the Black Hood’s code, this time Betty didn’t shoot straight up. She sat up from the bed gingerly but only moved far enough to see Jughead without moving out of his grasp. 

He opened one eye as she did it. The other eye was still swollen shut. 

“Jug!” Betty whispered harshly, then bit her bottom lip to keep her chin from quivering, overcome with emotion. 

His eye was as sapphire as she remembered and the little dimples he sometimes got around his mouth—usually when he was stealing fries off her plate at the diner—indented. His voice was a croak. “Betty.” 

Her heart felt like it was in her throat as she registered that Jughead recognized her and was holding her. She wondered if it hurt him to speak and smile. She didn’t know if he was loopy from the painkillers. 

Betty didn’t want to aggravate his ailments, so she asked only a simple question. “How do you feel?” 

It took Jughead a split second to respond in a way only he would. “Like death.” 

That was when Betty shot up out of her seat. She wiped at her face and pushed the fallen strands of the blonde hair from her ponytail behind her ear, then put her hands on her hips. “That is not funny.” 

Jughead chuckled but it hurt his stomach and tickled his throat, leaving him wincing. He let out a few wheezy breaths before he answered, “It’s a little funny.” 

“Jug, I…” Betty huffed and took a seat on the edge of his bed for the first time. She’d probably get yelled at by a nurse, but she’d also woken up to Jughead’s hand on her elbow and a joke about his near miss with death, so they were well past whatever was appropriate. 

“You told me you’d always love me, then you hung up on me.” Betty pointed at his wounds. “Then this happened. And that’s not the only thing that happened. I have so much to tell you, Juggie. But that can wait. You need to rest.” 

“Okay, Betty.” 

Jughead wanted to know everything that had occurred but he didn’t put up a fight because he already felt drowsy again. He hurt all over. It hurt even to talk. His sole intention was to look Betty in the eye and hear her voice before he drifted off again. He was thankful it was only her he saw when he came to. Everyone else he’d deal with when he woke up again, but Betty wasn’t someone he had to ‘deal’ with. She’d been his first conscious thought and the first person he wanted to see, and there she was. 

His left arm, the one less injured, felt like there were cinder blocks on top of it, weighing it down, but he stretched out his fingers anyway. Betty quickly took his hand in hers, a gesture that comforted them both. 

“I never lied.” Jughead squeezed Betty’s hand tightly and took it down with him when he let his arm fall against the bed before he drifted back to sleep. “I love you and I _knew_ I’d see you soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, [Story Notes](http://jerepars.tumblr.com/post/173923500910/hard-bark-on-the-family-tree-extended-story-notes) are on tumblr, where I’m [@jerepars](http://jerepars.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated. <3


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